


the memory that i was yours (and you were mine)

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Series: Vamps AU [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Immortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>imagine the vamps au, but over the course of 100 years. (skye and grant figure out what it means to be immortal. sort of. maybe it just means being with each other.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the memory that i was yours (and you were mine)

**Author's Note:**

> consider this an au of an au. i have truly reached my peak.

1882. 

She is the orphaned daughter of an immigrant and a madman, and he is old enough to know better.He still takes her hand with a softness he’d thought he’d lost, and smiles at her like he’d take his heart out of his chest, if she wanted.“I can give you forever,” he says.

She nods.“We’ll always have each other.”

He turns her and never regrets it. Not even once.

\--

She leaves a lot.They find each other.Sometimes in weeks.Sometimes in years.Doesn’t matter.Forever’s a long time.

\--

1923.

He finds her on Coney Island, long past after dark.At the time of night when only the dangerous kinds of people are still out.She’s sitting on the boardwalk, with her dress hiked above her knees.She’s unpinned her hair, let it fall into its natural long waves around her shoulders.He’d worried, a little, that she’d cut off her hair to go with the times, and not realize it would never grow back.She makes reckless decisions like that, but he knows how much she loves her long hair.

He takes off his shoes, and places them on the boardwalk.Rolls up the cuffs of his pants.Takes off his jacket, and gently places it around her shoulders.“What happened this time?” Grant asks, quietly.

Skye folds her hand over his, like she always does.“He wanted to get married,” Skye says.“Have children.”

Grant takes a moment to swallow the jealousy that strikes him.It always does.“Did you love him?” Grant asks.

“You always want to know that,” Skye says.She looks up at his face with wet eyes.“It’s not about love.”

He leans in and captures her lips with his in a soft, giving kiss.Her hands press flush against his chest.She mewls back at him, kisses more insistently.“I didn’t love him,” she whispers.

Grant’s never sure if she’s lying or not.“Come home, Skye.”

She nods against the crook of his neck.“I’ve missed you, Grant.”

He holds her hand.Gathers his shoes.Walks with her to the end of the boardwalk and hopes she’ll stay forever, this time.

She never does.

\--

 

1934.

“You don’t understand,” Grant says.“I need to give these flowers to a very important girl.It’s her birthday today and-”

“Sir, I’m sorry,” the woman says, leafing through her notes.“There’s no one here by the name of Skye.”

Grant nibbles on his lower lip.“Is there a Mary?”

“Only four of them,” the woman responds.“Listen, sir, I think you have the wrong boarding house.”

Grant hates compelling the innocent.He does.But if he doesn’t find Skye, she’ll think he’s forgotten, and then she’ll be mad and she’ll never come home.He looks the woman straight in the eye.“I’m looking for a girl named Mary-Sue Poots,” Grant says, slowly.“Long dark hair.I know there’s got to be only one Mary-Sue, here.Take me to her room.”

The woman shakes her head.“She went out.”

Grant nods.“Where?”

“Bar little ways away,” the woman says.“I told her it was no place for a young lady, but-”

“She’ll be fine,” Grant says, only relying on the knowledge that somehow, she always is.“Thank you for your help.Forget I was ever here.”

The woman nods.“Have a nice evening, sir.”

Grant takes his flowers and goes.

He finds her with the same method he always uses: find the seediest place around, and keep going.She likes dirty crowds.She likes knife fights and gambling and liquor.He knows for a fact she can’t get drunk, but she loves to pretend.

And he thinks, with some sick certainty, that’s probably how she snares most of her meals.She’s so small, his Skye.Easy enough for someone to take out into an alley and try to kiss.

Maybe she did kiss them, sometimes.Grant didn’t like to think about it.Not like she could catch anything.But still.

“Password?” the man at the door asks.

For the second time that night, Grant finds himself locking eyes with a complete stranger.“Invite me in,” Grant says.

The door swings inward.“Come in, sir.”

“Thank you,” Grant says, tucking his flowers against his chest so that they don’t bend in the doorframe.

There she is.Framed by dim light, head thrown back in laughter.Empty glasses strewn on the table in front of her.He wonders how many are hers.Birthday drinks, he’s sure.She loves her birthday.

“Flowers?” he offers, shoving lightly through her crowd of party guests.Some of them grumble at him.He doesn’t mind.

His voice snaps her out of her laughter.She sits up in her chair.Stares at him.“You remembered.”

“I never forget your birthday,” he says.Leans over the table, kisses her on the forehead.

She takes the flowers from him.Lets a soft smile cross her face.

What he wouldn’t do for those smiles.

“Would you like to stay for a drink?” she asks.She shoves someone off the chair closer to her, ignores him as he swears.

“I’d love to,” Grant says, quickly taking the seat.“Happy birthday, Skye,” he whispers.

“Would you believe I’m seventy-seven?” Skye asks.

Grant kisses her cheek.“If you’re seventy-seven, I’m three hundred and nine.”

“Imagine that,” she says.

\--

 

1945.

“Hey soldier,” Skye says, swinging her arm around Grant’s shoulder.“Heard you won the war.”

Grant straightens his hat.Moves his chair back so Skye can sit in his lap.“When did you get to Paris?”

She’s wearing the olive drab of a nurse’s uniform, her hair pulled back under a net.He hasn’t seen her look this worn down in ages.Then again, it’s been two years.

“I’ve been around,” she says.

“I wrote you,” he tells her.“I’m guessing those letters are waiting at the post office.”

Skye fixes his badge.Smooths his jacket.“I guess so.”

“Where were you stationed?” he asks.

“I was on transport,” she says.“Where were you?”

He smirks.Picks up his glass.“Right here.”

She takes the glass from him, downs his very expensive drink.“You were in France the last time, too.”

“It was different,” Grant says.“It’s always different.”

“But still kind of the same,” Skye remarks.“People die.”

“You weren’t supposed to come out here,” Grant says.“They needed women in the workforce back at home.”

“And I needed you,” Skye says.“I didn’t want you to go.”

He stills.She’s never said that to him before.And it’s been a long time.

She leans in.Her lips trace the shell of his ear.“There were rumors,” Skye says.“Of others like us.”

Grant wraps a sturdy arm around her waist.“It was more than a rumor,” he says.

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” she says.

“So could you,” Grant says.“Which is why I wanted you to stay home.”

“When have I ever stayed home?” Skye asks, pulling back.The look in her eyes is all-too knowing and makes Grant feel oddly transparent.“Besides, what is that you said during the last war?”

“I’ve lived in this country long enough,” Grant says, almost sighing.“I should fight for it.”

“So,” Skye says.“The same for me.”

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” Grant says, repeating her own words back to her.

“By what?” Skye asks.“Bullets?Hitler’s vampires?”

“The latter,” Grant says.

“I’m old enough to fend for myself,” Skye says.“I usually do.”

“No one is expecting you to,” Grant says.

“I am,” she replies.He frowns.Less so when she kisses him.“Don’t be so sad,” she says.“We won.”

That’s not what he’s sad about.

\--

1956.

She’s dancing with someone that Grant’s pretty sure is none other than Frank Sinatra.Which is just her style, now. Sometime in 1953, she traded seedy bars for Hollywood parties, and she blends in just as well.He kind of misses the bars, if he’s being honest.Fewer suits.And suits always pinch.

And fewer actual celebrities for Skye to dance with.He doesn’t blame her.The glamour of it suits her, suits the new Skye she’s trying to be.He doesn’t know what happened, though.Why she felt the need to change.

He waits until the song is done, and intercepts her on her way to the bar.“You look beautiful.”

She does.A vision in lavender, her hair all done up.“You don’t clean up so bad, either.”

“I missed you,” Grant says.

“Obviously,” Skye says, swaying past him.“It’s only been six weeks.Barely a nap.”

“You stayed, though,” Grant says.“You’ve been coming back every week or so, and then you just-”

“I want to be in the pictures,” Skye says, turning on her heel.She leans against the bar.“Do you know how many men have offered to make me a movie star?”

“Skye,” Grant says.

“And I know, I know, they say that to every girl,” she says.“But I could suggest my way all the way up to the president of MGM.You know I could.I could be making pictures with Marilyn Monroe next week.”

“You could,” Grant says.But then she’d probably never come home.She’d be too good for him.She already was.But this would just prove it.

“But guess what, Grant?” she says.“I don’t show up on film.”

She throws that out like it’s an accusation.It hurts.Every time she wants a forever with something that’s so short lived.She hasn’t really learned to let go yet.

He has.With everything but her.

“I thought they’d stop using silver-based film eventually,” Skye says.“But they haven’t.So I’m out of the pictures.”

“You would’ve been great,” Grant says.

“I would’ve been a lot of things,” Skye says.She’s no longer talking about the movies. He wonders if she ever was.

“Do you want to dance?” Grant asks.

She nods.“I’d like that.”

She lets him lead her onto the dance floor.Leans into his embrace.“I want to be so many things,” she says.“But I can’t be.”

“You can be Skye,” he says.“I think that’s pretty amazing.”

“It’s not enough,” she says.“It’s just not.”

\--

 

1967.

It’s been a long time coming, Grant supposes.And he supposes it as calmly as he can, as he surveys the damage in front of him.

“Skye,” he says.“What did you do?”

She snarls at him.More monster than girl.

He holds out his hands.Shows her he means no harm.“Calm down,” he says. “I’m not mad.I’ll fix this.”

She just glares at him as he ducks into the back of the van.One of the trendy ones that’s all the rage with kids these days.They must’ve thought she was a hitchhiker, just going their direction and-

She’d killed all of them.All five of them.Dead.And drained, now that he’s looking carefully.

“Did you hold them hostage, Skye?” Grant asks.

“It isn’t fair!” she yells.“These pseudo-rich kids, stealing their parents’ money, running from the draft like it doesn’t matter, living when-”

“Skye,” Grant says.“What happened?Where have you been?”

“Miles is dead, Grant,” she says.“Miles is dead for no good reason and they were alive, and smug, and it felt so good to kill them-”

He crawls over bodies.Ignores the blood on his blue jeans.How he’d hated Miles.But he’d never wanted this to happen.He’d never wanted Miles to get sent away.

He wraps her into his arms.Lets her wipe her bloody mouth on his shirt.“It’s okay,” he says.“It’s okay.”

She sobs.“Why me?” she asks.“Why do I get forever?”

“Because I love you,” he says.“I love you and it’s hard but we have each other, Skye.Always.”

“I didn’t deserve it,” she says.

“Yes you do,” he says.“No one deserves it more than you do.”

“Why do you love me?” she demands, suddenly.Tilts her head up.“I always leave.”

“You always come back,” Grant says.

“This isn’t my first time,” Skye says.“I’ve killed before.”

“I know,” Grant says.Kisses the top of her head.“We all have.”

“They’re dead,” Skye says.“Forever.”

He rocks her in his arms.Stares straight ahead.She’s painted the whole inside of the van.The carpet.The walls.The backs of the seats.Bloody, bloody red.“Technically,” Grant whispers.“So are we.”

\--

 

He disposes of the bodies.Brings her home.Lays with her all night.

She’s gone by sunrise.He’s not sure why he’s so surprised.

\--

 

1978.

He didn’t turn her for the sex.That was never his intention.He had sought companionship, maybe.Selfishly.But that was all.

She always wants it, though.When she comes back.

“Grant,” she whines, running her hands along his chest.“Tell me again.”

He just wants her to be happy.He just wants to know why she always runs away.“Tell you what?”

“Why you turned me,” Skye says.She thrusts.Again.Rests her head on his shoulder and moans.

He strokes her hair.“Because,” he says.“I have never loved someone as much as I love you.”

“But what do you love about me?” she asks.

“Everything, Skye,” he says.“Everything about you.Forever.”

She doesn’t pause.She bucks faster.“Forever is a long time,” she says.“It hasn’t even been one hundred years.”

“Skye,” he whispers.He just wants to enjoy the sensation.He just wants to feel like she’s not trying to prove something to him.Always trying to prove one thing or another.

“Who were you,” Skye asks.“To say I deserved forever?”

“Skye?” he says.Is this really appropriate sex talk?Is this really what she wants?Does she come back to him out of love or out of obligation?

“Turn over,” Skye says.“I want you on top.”

He does as she says.Kisses her as she lays under him, hair fanned out.Still long.Still shiny and perfect.

What has he done wrong?

“Hey,” Skye says, grasping at his biceps.“I’m happy to be home.”

She always calls it home.But does she mean it?

“Grant?” she asks.

He’s stopped moving.“Do you love me?” he asks.

She looks taken aback.Like he’s struck her.“Of course I love you.”

“Then why do you leave?”

She pushes him off of her.Wraps herself in a blanket.

No, no.He hadn’t meant to- “Skye.”

“I thought you understood,” she says.

“I’m trying to understand, Skye,” he says.“I love you so much and I miss you and just tell me what I’m doing wrong, please-”

She still him with a look.Wipes her hair out of her face.She’s begun to cry. “We’ll never have children,” she says.“We won’t grow old.”

“But we’ll live forever,” Grant says.“Doesn’t that mean something to you?”

“It means I have to watch everyone else die,” she says.“Everyone but me.Everyone but you.”

“So you do love them, then,” Grant says.“The people you leave me for.”

“Does it matter?” Skye says.“Give them a few years and they get sick!They want children!They want to get married and I can’t give anything to anyone but you,” she says.“And I can’t even do that right.”

“I never wanted anything from you,” he says.“I gave you a gift.I tried to.I thought it was a good thing.I didn’t mean to-”

“I didn’t deserve it,” Skye says.“You should’ve picked another girl.”

“Skye-” Grant offers.

She’s already grabbed her things.

\--

 

1982.

She shows up in his kitchen with a cake and a box of candles.It’s been months.No word.No sign.He figured she’d have forgotten.

“I had to buy the candles in bulk,” Skye says, casually crossing her legs.Her sundress is new.Not really of the times, but very Skye.“Which, by the way, is one of my favorite twentieth century things.”

Grant smiles at her.He’s just relieved to see her, really.Happy to know she remembered.“That’s one of your favorite things?” Grant asks.“Not color movies?Not rock n roll?”

Skye shrugs.“Those are big things,” she says.“I mean little things.Platform shoes.Bulk candles.”Her eyes flicker to his face.“Computers are pretty cool, though.”

Grant shrugs.“I’ve seen cooler.”

She blinks.“Will I?”

On a whim, he takes her hand.“Depends on how you live.”

“I’ve missed you,” she says.She rarely tells him that.And in this moment, he just has to trust that she means it.

He looks down at the cake, instead of at her lips.He wants to kiss her so badly but-

It just doesn’t feel like the right time.“Happy 100th Birthday, Skye,” he says aloud.“And you’re going to put 100 candles on the cake.”

“Of course,” Skye says.“Not many people make it to 100.”

She squeezes his hand.Wordlessly asks for his attention.She looks the same as she had, before.Same brown eyes.Same small, beautiful smile.

Why them?What did they do to earn forever? To find each other?

Will she always come back?“Will you be buying me 400 candles, then?” Grant says.“In another 50 years?”

“50 years?” Skye says, teasingly.“That’ll feel like a nap.”

“Hey,” Grant protests.“We’re not that old yet.”

“I’m not,” Skye says.“But you-”

He tugs her onto his lap and kisses her the same way he did the first time.With the utmost urgency, the need for her to know that forever is limited, strangely enough.That he can give her the world of as long as he can, but not truly forever.And every promise feels the same, even if she’s changed in every way but her appearance.Even if he’s changed with her.

He hopes this never ends.

He knows one day it will.

 

 


End file.
